


Called on the Carpet.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Series: Born To The Life [7]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-25
Updated: 2004-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerry's called home to London from Glasgow to answer to his father and uncles. Gerry is Sean's eldest son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Called on the Carpet.

**Author's Note:**

> Time element: Current day.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a story about vampires. Since we all know vampires don't really exist, then the characters can't be based on real people since those people can't be vampires in a world where such creatures don't exist. We personally don't know anything about these people's lives. Don't care to. In other words, it's fiction, folks, the product of overworked imaginations.

Gerry plops down on the red couch and looks from one uncle to the other. "What was so important that you called me home from Glasgow?"

"Does there _have_ to be a reason to call home our favorite nephew?" Marton says, pushing a beer into Gerry's hand. "Perhaps your uncles were missing you."

"Or perhaps you were making a bit of an arse of yourself at that university, and we felt you needed to be reminded how to act properly," Peter says from across the room. He brushes off Marton's roll of eyes with a wave of his hand and settles into the chair opposite the couch. "Oh, sorry, Marton, forgot we were going to be subtle." He lets out a long sigh. "The boy doesn't deserve it."

Gerry takes the beer and decides that while hostile isn't going to help him, he's fucking pissed enough to _be_ hostile right now. "What did you hear about what I was doing?" It hadn't been anything worse than a couple orgies, but he's not about to let his uncles know about that. Then they'd rag on him about not being a true son of a horseman. "And I've never been your favourite nephew, Marton. That's my younger brother, or has Dommy finally given you the finger?"

"Smart arse." Marton kicks Gerry's boots off the edge of the table, where they were headed, and settles onto the couch beside him, very close. "Now, who said you weren't one of our favourites?"

Gerry glares at Marton, but keeps his feet on the floor. "Oh, I'm not saying I'm not _one_ of them, but I've five brothers, and then Peter and Daragh have their own bastards here and there. Calling me one of your favourites is the same as calling me your favourite Sean's oldest son. It's meaningless."

"I think you've offended him, Marton," Peter says casually, almost as if it were too difficult to take the breath to get the words out. "Boy has an orgy that involves the friggin' crown prince and he doesn't think that bumps him up a bit beyond being _favourite Sean's eldest_?"

"Oh, so that's what it's about? My uncles are jealous?" Gerry grins. "You can have him, if you want. He's slutty enough."

"Not jealous. Cautious. Word of your _party_ made it to Downing Street," Peter sighs, "and there are _few_ things more annoying than your youngest brother pitching a tantrum. Damnit, Gerry, use your brain instead of your cock to think."

"What? I'm supposed to curtail my fun just because the brat can't mind his own business?" Gerard takes a long drink of his beer and then tosses the can into the fire. "That's fair of you. How about I just go over and remind my brother of the fucking pecking order that served us so well when he was a child?"

"You're going to walk in there and start beating up your brother?" Sean asks dryly as he walks in. He picks the can up from where it landed close to the fireplace and hurls it back at Gerry, who ducks. "I think Peter's right. Your cock's bigger than your brains."

Marton laughs. "Wondered where you'd gotten to. Harry get off all right?"

"Yeah," Sean mutters. "Plane's over France by now. You, however," he points at Gerry, "are quickly getting on my bad side today. Harry and I spent five hours placating Tony. Do you realize how much fun that isn't?"

Gerry crosses his arms and glares at his father. "Let me get this straight. I have a couple orgies. I fuck a _very_ fuckable guy, and Tony gets pissed. _You_ spend the day giving candy to the baby and this is my fault? I was the one in favor of spanking him more often when he was kid. He grew up spoiled. How is all this my fault?"

"No one said it was your _fault_, Gerry," Peter says. "You're assuming that you're going to be punished for something you actually did." The smile's too thin, too wicked.

"Spanking. I wonder, did you get enough of them growing up, Gerry?" Marton works his fingers over the buttons of Gerry's shirt. "Black's a nice color on you. Will look better off, I think."

Gerry rolls his eyes. This is so fucking typical. "You've a bad day and so you call me up and tell me to drive down so I can get spanked. Aren't we technologically advanced." Gerard bats Marton's hand away and starts working at his own buttons. "If we're going to do this, then let's do this right. I happen to like this shirt."

"Fine," Marton says with a shrug and smile, dipping his head to lick over Gerry's collarbone as the shirt's undone. "Don't really care how you get undressed, just that you do."

"Fine," Gerry says, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the floor. "But I want to see you naked too, Marton. Wouldn't be fair for all the naked skin in this room to be mine when you're so nice to look at."

"Well, I _do_ care," Sean interrupts, knocking the table back and hauling Gerry to his feet, out from under Marton's touches. He roughly undoes the jeans, sliding his hand inside before he pushes them down, grabbing Gerry's cock and giving it a rough squeeze. "Don't be so cocky, boy. You don't give orders here."

Peter smirks at Gerry's blustering protests. Leave it to the boy to give Sean even more reason to bring him down. Had it been any other child, Peter would think it had been done on purpose, but Gerry wasn't smart enough for that. Gerry never seemed to think out the consequences of his actions, and so there were always endless opportunities to watch the boy squirm. Peter slides his hand down Marton's pants and strokes his cock, never taking his eyes off Sean.

Marton arches up into Peter's touches. "Not very smart, Gerry. You see, there's a reason Dominic has the upper edge. He knows how to play the game." His hands are busy with Peter's sweater, rolling up the edges. "Too many fuckin' clothes."

"You, too," Peter retorts, taking his hand out of Marton's pants long enough to get his white sweater off. He gives Sean a side-long glance. "How about you tie the brat down somewhere and make him watch? I'm sure he'll be very polite when he's begging to join us."

"That's positively brilliant, Peter," Sean says, his palm kneading into Gerry's cock. "Would you like that, boy? Tied up. Watching. Would you beg?"

"Fuck you," Gerry mutters under his breath. He tries to make himself not enjoy Sean's touch, but it doesn't quite work. "Even if I did, you wouldn't let me out."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Sean lets go, steps back. "Get out of the jeans. I've got a better idea." He flips off his own sweater, tossing it backward onto the jean, skims out of his khakis and discards them. "Marton. Peter. Go right ahead with your fun," he says casually.

"He's giving us permission," Marton says to Peter.

"I noticed, brother." Peter replies, finally getting Marton out of his tight shirt.

"Should we jump him now or later?"

Peter looks from Sean to Gerry and then back again. "Later," he says. "I want to see what Sean's going to do to the boy."

Gerard ignores his uncles as he pulls his jeans down and steps out of them. He gives Sean an uncertain look. "What sort of idea, da?"

Sean resists the childish urge to stick his tongue out at his brothers. He settles on the floor, back against the chair, and spreads his legs. "C'mere, boy," he says, patting the open space between his thighs. "Want you here, with your back to me."

"Wouldn't it be better to have my front to you?" Gerry asks dubiously. "So I could blow you, or you could bite me?" But he gets down between Sean's legs anyway, back towards his father.

"No, that would imply you get to be an active participant in this exercise." Sean reaches around, pulls Gerry snugly back to him, just so his cock's wedged nicely against Gerry's arse. "That's not the case. This is punishment." He straightens out Gerry's legs to match his and runs his hand back up over the knee, thigh, caressing a small scar just where the knee curves out. "How'd you get that? It's fresh."

"Patrick came to visit last week," Gerry answers softly. He's always been scared that if he fights punishment too much once it's started, he won't get it. "He was blowing me and didn't realize that his nails were digging into me."

"Didn't realize you were so close to Patrick," Sean says quietly as his hand moves up, fingers ghosting the inner thigh, carefully avoiding the cock, coming to settle on Gerry's stomach. Sean realizes he doesn't know a great deal about his eldest sons. He whispers into Gerry's ear. "Now, you're going to keep your eyes on Peter and Marton, your hands flat against the floor, and I'm going to keep my hands on you."

"Yes, da," Gerry answers. He makes a show of putting his hands on the floor. Watching his uncles without being touched, he knows, is going to take all his control. Marton has just pounced Peter and has his teeth in his throat and his hands around Peter's cock, stroking it.

Sean almost laughs at the deliberate placement of hands. Gerry always has been the most difficult of his sons to get a handle on. Marton seems to understand him better. Harry, too. "Now, we promised Tony you would be a good boy, not entice the prince anymore," he says, one hand rubbing small circles around Gerry's navel while the other plays along the hipbone. Actually, it was Harry who'd defended Gerry most vehemently to Tony, basically told Sean's youngest to fuck off and go back to fuckin' the country rather than picking on his own blood. "Did we lie to him? Or can my boy be good?"

"Define good, da, and I'll see." It's the best promise Gerry can make. He's never going to be the most perfect son and he doesn't really care. Sean always dotes on the youngest, whoever it happens to be at the time, and his uncles staked out claims on his brothers long ago. Colin's Daragh's, when he can stand him. Dommy's been Marton's almost since he was born, and Peter never sticks with one nephew too long. Gerry's always liked not having someone who automatically assumed he'd share his bed that night. "I can't as well tell the lad that the Prime bloody Minister told me to stop fucking him."

"No, but you can bloody well tell him your father says so." Sean skims his hand up, slowly taking a nipple between finger and thumb, rolling it more gently than Gerry might expect. "You don't plan on turning him, I hope. We do _not_ need that bloodline mixed with ours."

Peter moans, catching the snippet of conversation. "Christ, no. Avoided that centuries ago when Dominic got fancy on the princess." He barely gets the words out before Marton's pushing his head back down, filling his mouth with throbbing cock.

"You think I was planning on turning him?" Gerry's shocked enough that he doesn't even notice the latest in Peter and Marton's show. "I know you think I'm an idiot, but, Jesus fucking Christ, do _you_ turn all the mortals you bed?"

"Uh, oh, Gerry," Marton cautions, "bad analogy. He does." He shifts, pushes back on the couch, bettering the angle of Peter's descent. "Oh, yeah. Better. Sean's either turned 'em or gotten 'em pregnant."

"I've knocked up six. Turned three." Sean retorts. "Hardly more than you have, brother. Gerry here plays around much more than I do."

Marton mutters something that gets lost in the moans. "Oh, fuck, Peter," he pants out. "Yeah, Sean, I've got one turn on you, but not as many kids."

Sean runs his hand back down Gerry's body, wraps his fingers around the stiffening cock, strokes it lightly. "Aren't they sexy together? So fuckable." He tugs lightly at the head, slipping his thumb under the foreskin. "But you know that, don't you? You've had us all."

Whatever Gerry was going to say, he forgets it as Sean finally, finally, touches his cock. He thrusts upwards into Sean's hand, hoping that Sean could somehow forget about before and give him a handjob he probably doesn't deserve.

Peter pulls back on Marton's cock, then starts taking it down again, inch after painstaking inch. Marton makes the most interesting noises when he tries this trick on him and if they do to Gerry one-third of the things they do for Peter, then it will be punishment well deserved. Sean wasn't the only one who had to listen to Tony, though he had to do it the longest of all of them.

Sean pops Gerry's thigh, hard, the sound echoing through the room. "Do. Not. Move." He snaps the words out with harsh strokes along Gerry's cock, nothing pleasurable about them. "You think this is for you? Think again, boy. You're not coming." He licks over Gerry's shoulder, ending with his tongue swiping the edge of his ear. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Maybe not even all week."

The scream at the strike turns into a moan of pleasure at Sean's tongue. Fuck it, Gerry hates orgasm denial. He's a fucking hedonist. Takes after his da. "Bastard," he grunts. "Punish Tony 'stead o'me."

"Oh, Tony's getting punished," Sean says, stilling his hand. "He's having to deal with Harry's meddling in politics. That's more than punishment for the prime minister."

"I'll take Harry meddling in my life." With his biological uncle around, Gerry might even be able to land that stuffy stiff-arsed yank with the pretty smile. "Won't bother me a bit."

Marton laughs. "Oh, give him Harry, Sean. That'd serve him right." He screams, clutches Peter's head and comes, violently spilling himself down Peter's throat. His words come in hitched breaths. "Would serve him right."

Peter pulls back, licking the last from his lips. "We're siccing Harry on Gerry? Hardly fair for Harry." He moves up Marton's body to give him a long, slow kiss, pinning him to the ground.

The good thing about being ordered to look at his uncles is that none of them notice his expression when he actually is. Suspicious, Gerry looks from Peter to Marton and then back over his shoulder at Sean. "Is Harry still angry about me ripping up his favorite saddle when I was eight?"

Sean starts stroking Gerry's cock again, long pulls ending in sharp tugs, while his other hand rubs absently over a nipple. "Harry holds grudges, but not quite that long," he says, "although he might be willing to take it out of your hide if you ask nicely."

"_Very_ nicely," Peter adds, breaking the kiss. "In fact, it might be best if you stripped and got on your knees first. He's always liked the poor naked me look. Says it inspires him."

"Peter, the poor naked _you_ look would inspire anyone," Marton says, pushing Peter up, following and whispering in his ear.

"Oh, you _are_ wicked, brother."

Peter and Marton crawl over and start licking at Gerry's ankles, Peter on the right and Marton on the left, each bracing the boy's legs with hands at the knees.

"Fuckers!" Gerry struggles to get his legs loose, but his uncles have too strong a hold. "Let me go! Fucking tickles."

Sean's laughter is low and amused. "When are you going to learn, boy, that you do _not_ give orders around here?" He pinches down hard around a nipple and squeezes the base of Gerry's cock.

"But he's so cute when he thinks he does," Peter says, moving up, licking the outside of Gerry's thigh. "Marton, I do believe our brother needs some help. Want to retrieve a few things from the chest while I hold down the fort?"

"Most assuredly." Marton crawls off to the side, Peter slipping his hand over to brace Gerry's other leg as well.

"Tsk, tsk, Gerry. Stop moving so much." Peter bites his inner thigh. "Just take it like the hedonistic vampire you are."

"I would," Gerry hisses, trying to track Marton's movements and buck Peter off him at the same time, "if I had any hope of being allowed to come tonight. But since Sean's assured me that I don't - get _off_! - staying still is just going to be me tortured without hope of a fucking payoff. And how the fuck is that fun?"

"Sad state of affairs, isn't it?" Sean hisses against Gerry's ear. "Marton, we don't need the most elaborate restraint. Just something simple."

Marton returns with two cock rings in hand, one a rather nasty looking cage and other a simple leather strap. "Oh, I was so hoping to use the cage tonight." He smiles, looking for all the world like he wants to devour Gerry in one bite. "Which shall it be, nephew?"

Sean strokes out, holds thumb against cockhead, waiting. "Gerry's going to be a good boy, isn't he?"

Gerry's starting to get scared. Really scared. "Yes, da," he says quickly. "'m gonna be a very good boy. No need for it, Unca Marton. Really. I'm going to be a good boy. Promise." He flinches away as Marton comes closer.

"Hmm, never have been one for not coming, have you?" Peter whispers as he licks the length of Gerry's cock, his tongue swirling over Sean's fingers before he pulls back, kneels up. With a silent nod, Sean signals to Marton and the younger brother drops the cage with a sigh and wraps the strap around the base of Gerry's cock, securely under balls, and snaps it into place.

"Thank you," Gerry breathes. "Thank you." It's the first time he's ever thanked anyone for putting a chastity device on him, but it's also the first time he's been threatening with a monster salvaged from Peter's time with the Inquisition. "Bloody hell, thank you."

"Oh, don't thank us yet, nephew," Marton says, leaning up, brushing a kiss over Gerry's lips. "The night's still young, and this just keeps you from coming while we fuck your brains out."

"Easy for you to say. You've never been that close to being in it." Gerry whispers against Marton's mouth and then jerks enough forward under the arms holding him down to kiss Marton properly.

"No, Gerry," Sean whispers, leaning forward with him. "Marton's been it. For days at a time." He smirks, then smiles, letting his fangs drop, and he bites Gerry's shoulder, roughly sucking, drawing as much blood as he can in a single mouthful.

Peter smirks at Gerry's screams and bites down on Gerry's thigh, sucking hard while widening the wound with his mouth. Blood spills out and starts to drip down Gerry's leg and Marton leans down to lick it up. No one in the family has ever believed in letting blood go to waste.

Sean lets up long enough to hiss through blood-dripped lips, "We could drain you, son. Did Colin ever tell you what that felt like? Being left for dead."

Gerry shakes his head, mouth dry. He'd been away when Sean had decided to drain Colin and lock him in his room, and he'd been very grateful for it. All Colin ever said was a listless 'Blame Stuart' when Gerry asked him about it. Gerry can't imagine what the pain must have been like. Excruciating isn't strong enough a word. Like hell he wants that.

Marton and Peter continue sucking, coming close to drawing out more blood than Gerry really needs to lose. "What do you want?" Sean growls. "Ask. Beg for it."

Gerry lists his priorities in order, trying hard to think straight when all his body wants to do is fall into darkness. Live is in the forefront. He'd never have lasted this long as a vampire were his will to live not strong as steel. He wants sex, but sex is easy. No one's ever tried to deprive him of it before. And he fucking doesn't want to wake up tomorrow and be too weak to move. He wets his lips and steadies his voice. "Father, your son humbly begs for all this to stop. He thinks he's done enough penance to suit his mistake."

"Stop," Sean says quietly. Marton and Peter raise their heads.

"Did he?" Peter asks.

"Yes," Marton says, dropping back to lick the wound, seal it, then leaning over and licking closed the one Peter made.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Peter smiles, kneels up, pushes the hair from Gerry's eyes.

"None of my sons has ever asked that way," Sean whispers, swiping his tongue over Gerry's shoulder, swirling away the blood flow. "With humility, with the logic of arguing penance."

Gerry gasps, taking in one shuddering breath after the other. He isn't sure what he did that made them stop, but he isn't going to question it. Not going to question. Just going to enjoy the sudden lack of pain and not ask what the fuck his elders are talking about.

There's a silent agreement between the vampire brothers, as if they really could read each other's minds, and they set to work in unison on Gerry's body. Sean's holding him, licking up his throat, while Peter sucks at his nipples, one then the other, and Marton unsnaps the cock ring after filling his mouth with the purple throbbing shaft.

"Penance done, my son," Sean says with a kiss at the pulsepoint on Gerry's neck. "Come for us now." He'll explain later, how invoking penance is a time-honored tradition among them, how none of the boys have ever gotten to that point, how pleased he is with his eldest son.

Gerry just has the strength to nod. The extreme pain from before has turned into pleasure to rival it. He's never known his uncles or his father to have such skilled mouths. He screams as he comes and gives in to the urge to finally close his eyes.

Sean holds Gerry through the ripple of orgasm, smiles as he closes his eyes. "I think a boy grew up tonight, brothers." He nudges Marton with his foot. "Get a rag to clean him up. We'll feed him later, when he can enjoy it more."

Marton fetches a wet rag and puts it on Gerry's forehead. He strokes Gerry's cheek softly. "I'm impressed," he says softly. "Never thought he had it in him. Thought he was too stubborn by half."

"Yeah. I didn't think he'd do it either." Sean settles back, wrapping his arms around his son, pulling him close. "Lost my bet with Harry," he laughs, "but it's worth it."

Words filter into Gerry's head, but he doesn't pay attention to any of it. He just rests his head against Sean's chest and enjoys being held by his father.

"How much did you lose?" Peter asks. He comes around behind Marton and wraps his arms around him. He lays his chin down on Marton's shoulder and nuzzles his throat. "I'll chip in." Peter smiles. "Worth it to have seen this."

"Nice offer, Peter," Sean smirks, "Harry can have _your_ arse when he gets back from Berlin."

"Uh uh. Not until I know the stakes. Don't want to promise the pound of flesh until I know I'm offering it."

"Just that, I'm betting," Marton says, leaning into Peter's touch. "You know Harry. He likes his pound of flesh attached to a body that can be chained to the wall."

Peter licks along Marton's throat, and sucks lightly at his pulse point. "Sean? What did you promise your brother?"

The smile slides easily onto Sean's lips, coercing the corners of his mouth into a wicked grin. "A weekend in the North Tower."

Even Marton laughs at that. "Nice try. Even you wouldn't agree to that. You like a bit of self destruction with your sex, but not that much."

"Uh, yeah, I would, Marton. Harry was _that_ certain Gerry would come through that he offered himself up, so I couldn't do anything but counter." Sean shrugs. "It's worth 48 hours of my sanity to be able to do this, hold him and know what he did."

Peter shakes his head and nicks his fangs on Marton's neck. "You're daft, Sean. Daft," he laps lightly at the blood and then kisses the cuts closed. "Sentimental, but daft. You're on your own."


End file.
